


A Whiter Shade of Pale

by potslooshi



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Amputation, College AU, Fluff, M/M, Minor Angst, kaisoo (if you squint)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-08-19 12:24:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16534529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potslooshi/pseuds/potslooshi
Summary: Sehun wants to paint Minseok swathed in flowers, veiled in crisp tafetta.Sehun wants to paint him his.





	A Whiter Shade of Pale

**Author's Note:**

> To the prompter,  
> I know my take on this fic might be a tad bit clichéd. I hope I've done justice to it (in a small way, at least).
> 
> To the mods,  
> This fic would be rotting away in my drive, incomplete and collecting dust, if it weren't for you. Thank you so much for giving me all those extensions that my procrastinating ass did not deserve. Thank you; for the words of confidence, for making this a little less of a mess.
> 
> To the reader,  
> Heres my brainchild. I genuinely hope you like it.

To say Sehun was struggling would be an understatement.

The plum blossoms adorning his stretched canvas were a rich glossy white, buds streaked with flecks of yellow and red, ready to blossom. His inanimate muse, the sole white flower he’d picked from the flowering tree outside the dorms, lay fragile on his lap. The stalk looked like it was withering. He wondered if he should be painting that too.

 

Live sketching deadlines wasn't something he could get behind. He was a slow worker—all steady strokes and weightless movements. The plum blossoms were due in a hour. He needed at least three.

 

Beside him, Jongin was nearly done—lithe hands holding a mic, in the prefect center of his canvas. The mic was golden, like the hands holding it had turned it into shimmering aurum. Sehun knew whose hands they were—Kyungsoo, from the literature department, Jongin’s perpetual muse of sorts. The senior had steadily turned down his best friend’s advances to the point where Jongin had resorted to staring at him from afar, stolen glances and quiet smiles.

 

“You aren’t going to finish if you keep staring at mine,” Jongin’s words bring Sehun out of his reverie, back to the withering peach blossoms.

 

“I don't think I’ll finish anyway.”

 

Jongin snorted unattractively. “It’s anthropometry today, Hun. Best not to keep anything piling up.”

 

Sehun groaned. The last anthropometry class had brought in Byun Baekhyun—loud and rambunctious, with poorly concealed innuendos and incessant flirting. Sehun’s sketch was about a week late that time.

 

Sehun was down to his last flower, when their afflatus for the day arrived, complete with a gregariously winning smile, who had Jongin waving excitedly in his seat. After a quiet, confident introduction as Kim Minseok from the IT dept, the boy began to undress himself, the standard routine of an live anthro class—diving in without preamble.

 

Sehun watched as sculpted collar bones came into view, amidst shy giggles and appreciative hoots. Minseok was beautiful, not in a way that Baekhyun had been—pretty with stained hues around the corners, but beautiful in wilder sort of way—pitch black hair curling across his forehead, velvety kohl lined eyes. Wild.

 

The boy sat down on a high stool, gingerly, as he tugged his pants lower. The giggles ceased, the sharp intakes of breaths were painfully obvious. Sehun froze, torn between wanting to look away and the inherent need to stare. Minseok's left leg was littered with scars, a thick band of flesh-toned elastic wound right under his knee, where the flesh grew darker, in a way that was almost lifeless.

 

The boy’s smile morphed into something serene and calm as he bent down, undoing the elastic and easing the prosthetic limb off and setting it to the side. He leaned into the slight curve of the chair, facing his audience—an invitation to do as they pleased.

 

Sehun followed the angles of the boy’s face, the dusting of hair from his navel to the black boxers where the leg ended in nothingness, the flesh curved up, rounding off the edge.

 

A hand nudged him.

 

“Quit staring, you moron.” Jongin had already started arranging his canvas, palette filled with more warm tones than Sehun could count.

 

“You looked like you knew him,” Sehun observed.

 

“Yea, Minseok was on the soccer team the year I joined. Some freak highway accident…” he trailed off, gesturing to where Minseok sat, proud and beautiful, like a bud among withering flowers.

 

Empathy wasn't one of Sehun’s strongholds. His face was probably etched into a grimace. Jongin chuckled.

 

“Don't show that face around Hun. He’s one of the strongest people I know, if anyone does not need sympathy—it’s him.”

  
  


Drawing Minseok wasn’t as hard as he’d expected. The boy had sat there, unmoving, except to ask for some water, gloriously black hair flying gently near the open window.

 

Sehun’s canvas had faint linings of the angular face, and crinkling eyes, captured at the exact moment when someone had complimented him into an easy laugh. He had drawn the smooth flow of clavicles and toned muscles effortlessly, but Sehun still couldn’t force himself into looking beyond the lithe waist and hips, to where the leg tapered off. The void scared him—the boy sitting there, with that stoic air of radiating calmness, his eyes brimming with the most life Sehun had ever seen.

  


An hour to go, his canvas was strewn with strokes of nudes, trickling to meet the velvets of black. The Minseok in the painting now had a sheer shawl draped over his left shoulder, the fabric twisting off around his hips, flaring at his ankles, effectively shrouding his legs from sight, almost making him look whole. Almost.

  


The prosthetic now effectively strapped up, Minseok had taken to walking among the tables, his shirt carelessly unbuttoned, stopping occasionally to comment on the ones that caught his eye. It was like a perpetual ray of light was shining on him, Sehun noticed, the sort that was missing from the lackluster façade of the people around him, soft and worn on the edges.

He was beside Jongin, arms loosely hanging around his best friend’s shoulder, the muffled chortling piping Sehun’s curiosity. He couldn’t see past the two boys to Jongin’s canvas; but whatever Jongin had seemed to be amusing the older to no end.

 

Sehun shrank down in his seat, trying to curl himself up into invisibility. The last he wanted was for Minseok to see the sorry excuse for his cowardice to paint the man as he truly was. The sheer cloth draping his painting looked up at him, taunting.

Jongin leaned over to whisper something into the older boy’s ears, two heads turning in Sehun’s direction a moment later. He cocked an eyebrow at his best friend. Jongin shrugged, turning back to his canvas as Minseok walked over, his customary smile intact.

 

“Sehun, right?”

 

Sehun nodded. Up close, Sehun could see the glistening in his hair, the flecks of gel meticulously run through with deft, able fingers.

 

“Can I?”

 

His voice was pretty, just like the rest of him, husky and light. Sehun nodded again, angling his canvas and stepping back a little. He waited for the smile to slip of Minseok’s face, for the unforgiving disappointment, but the boy just looked at the canvas, a sort of juvenile curiosity etched on his face as he searched the painting.

 

“I’m sorry,” Sehun croaked, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself.

 

Minseok looked up in question.

 

“What for?” He seemed so genuinely lost as to why Sehun was apologising, the smile trickling off his face steadily, replaced by a guarded caution.

 

Sehun gestured vaguely at the canvas where the shawl curved over the man’s ankles.

 

The realisation softened something in Minseok’s eyes as he turned to Sehun.

 

“Hey, that’s alright. It’s beautiful, actually.”

 

Sehun wanted to disagree. The words felt heavy on his tongue. Minseok patted his arm gently.

 

“I couldn't look at it the first month either,” he looked a little wistful, unconsciously shifting his weight from the uninjured leg. Sehun couldn’t look away from the man’s eyes—glimmering through the weight of the yoke he bore.

 

“It’s beautiful Sehun. I’m honoured.”

 

That spurred Sehun back to life, the undeserving, but oh so welcome compliment. He flushed a little and Minseok chuckled.

 

“Thanks,” he mumbled under his breath.

 

“Do show it to me when you’re done.” Minseok touched his arm once more before ambling off to the person behind him. Sehun looked at his canvas—where Minseok sat, organza weaving through his legs, graceful and proud. Sehun scoffed. He’d drawn a lie.

 

* * *

 

 

It was the bleakest evening of the year, the skies rolled a dark slate grey, the rain seeping into the soles of Sehun’s shoes. He steadied his umbrella, it was probably a bad idea to visit the library at this time, but he was falling behind in a few classes and needed to put in the extra time. The usual ten minute walk from his dorm was taking forever as the sleet poured down on him, sloshing on the pathways, a deep murky brown.

 

The research hall was quiet, save for a couple of people buried in their books. Someone looked up as his shoes squelched loudly. Sehun winced. He hurried over to a corner, trying not to dwell on the fact that his toes were beginning to shiver a little. He draped his coat over a chair, which was probably terrible for the wood, but it made him feel a little less like he was dripping in rainwater and a lot warmer. Slipping off his shoes, he tangled his toes into the plush red carpet and sighed. Getting too comfortable wasn't a good idea, but someone had turned on the heater and it was next to impossible to concentrate on the fading sketches in the text.

 

They had to replace these books, or get them reprinted; he thought sluggishly, pupils drifting over the greying words that were now starting to simmer. Wouldn’t hurt to close his eyes for a moment now.

 

Gentle fingers on the table roused him. Sehun blinked up at the face shrouded in warm incandescence, affable grin now welcomingly familiar.

 

Minseok gestured to the empty chair across him. “Do you mind?”

 

“No, not at all,” his voice was groggy.

 

The sleep now gone, Sehun ogled the older boy as he pulled out the chair. Minseok was wearing a sandy sweater, that reminded Sehun of warm toast, the pale skin contrasting marvellously with it. Minseok grunted a little as he sat down.

 

“Did you walk all the way here?” Minseok gestured to Sehun’s drying coat.

 

“Yea. Can’t take the bike out in this weather. No insurance.”

 

“The payoffs terrible though. One of my friends got fined. Luhan, you know him?”

 

Sehun nodded. Some dude on the soccer team. A friend of Jongin’s, so by rule, Sehun was indirectly acquainted. Minseok reached underneath the table, fiddled a little with the prosthetic, sighing as he eased limb off. Sehun hoped his face wouldn't betray the discomfort.

 

“Does it hurt? To walk in it?”

 

Minseok looked at him with the slightest hint of surprise, like he hadn’t expected Sehun to ask something like that.

 

“No. Not anymore. I get tired though, pulling it behind me all the time,” he said, patting his leg underneath the table. “You done drawing me though?” He looked at up expectantly.

 

Sehun shook his head, “No, I wasn’t exactly… happy with the last one.”

 

“You are too hard on yourself.” He prodded the book in front of Sehun. “Do your reading, Sehun.”

 

For the next half hour, Sehun sat there missing the simple conversation and quiet voices. The books made no more sense than usual, and he caught himself stealing glances at the boy across him. By the end of the hour, Sehun could pick out the details, the sharpness of his nose, the pale mouth, the way the hair curled over his temple, left him wondering how he’d look with flowers in his hair. Flowers in his hair.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I’m back!”

 

Sehun winced at the sound of the door slamming shut. Jongin never learnt and Sehun never seemed to get used to it. Jongin bounded in, slicked from head to toe in sweat—smelling like mown grass and stale gym socks.

 

“Good practice?—hey, get away from my bed!” Sehun yelled as his roommate, who promptly ignored him and plops himself on the bed.

 

“You missed last laundry day, Hun. This is a blessing in disguise, if anything.” Jongin wiggled his ass around, slobbering all over Sehun’s sheets.

 

“You’re paying to get these sheets cleaned, you arse,” Sehun scowled, sending a stray brush flying at the other boy.

 

Jongin caught the brush with ease, chortling loudly. “Why do you have materials laid out Hun?” he peered over Sehun’s shoulder at the canvas in splayed out in front of him.

 

Sehun flushed, angling his body to cover the small table. “Its nothing.”

 

Jongin wasn't buying it. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

 

He shoved Sehun to the side, before hovering over the canvas, eyes curving up in recognition. “O-oh… this is interesting.” He turned to Sehun, who was surreptitiously avoiding Jongin’s eyes.

 

“It’s nothing,” he repeated, standing up and dusting himself vaguely, like he was trying to get remnants of Jongin off of him.

 

“You’ve drawn our anthro model swathed in a bed of flowers. Naked.”

 

Sehun flushed a beet red.

 

Jongin lips curved up into a smirk. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

 

It probably didn't, it probably looked like all the things Sehun had to say, or the things he hadn’t said. Maybe this was an apology, Sehun didn't know. He kept mum.

 

The silence seemed to amuse Jongin.

 

“Ah, don't worry Hun, I’m sure Minseok hyung will like it just fine.”

 

Sehun looked around for something to throw at his roommate. Jongin yelped and dodged.

 

“Don't make it sound like an unrequited love story.”

 

Jongin laughed it off and went to take a shower, leaving Sehun with dirty sheets and prettily smeared colours.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You look like death.”

 

“Thanks,” Sehun muttered.

 

Jongin remained undeterred. “Were you up all night finishing the canvas?” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

 

“Quit doing that. And yes, I’m done.” Sehun looked at himself in the mirror Jongin wasn't jesting with him. The bags under his eyes were tinged an unattractive purple, his face a little puffy.

 

“Where is it, Hun? Don't tell me you’re hiding it.”

 

Sehun groaned. “It’s in the holder.” He tried squishing his cheeks into normalcy.

 

“Shit. Sehun.” Jongin never called his name unless it was important, Sehun looked up warily. “It’s gorgeous”. Jongin was bent over the unrolled canvas, hair throwing shadows onto the sheet.

 

Sehun knew it wasn’t bad, he’d go as far as to say that he was proud of it.

 

The Minseok in the painting had a mop of silver hair, streaked with strands of a darker gray. He lay in knots of lavender flowers, that coiled fragilely all over him, woven into his hair, partially sheathing his torso. The amputation lay patterned with the stocks, the flowers covering but not concealing.

 

Jongin was looking at him with inexplicably soft eyes. “Show it to him, Hun, he’ll love it.”

  
  
  


 

The week rolled by, dull and mundane, the workload overbearing and stressful, Sehun hadn’t been so tired in ages. He’d been pulling overnights, pouring over greying letters and white paper, trying to sketch half presentable designs for class. Jongin hadn’t fared any better. He’d been walking around like completely oblivious to his surroundings to an extent where Sehun had caught Kyungsoo throwing him concerned looks through his round glasses. Sehun probably would laugh at the failed attempts at nonchalantly. If he had the strength, that is.

 

“I’m going to sleep. No alarms till 9.” Jongin threw himself on his bed, burying his face in his pillow and moaning a little.

 

Sehun turned the air-conditioning on and slipped out of his shirt, curling up against the headboard. He looked at the sheets littering his desk—one of them, his painting of Minseok, fresh from evaluation. He didn’t think think he’d work up the guts to show Minseok the canvas. He’d probably come off as weird. He’d probably have to tuck it away the drawers. Could be a nice surprise when he came across it months later.

  
  


 

The soccer team was home. Though the ruckus from the living room suggested the presence of more than 11 people. Not that Sehun minded. The loud, boisterous bunch were people he occasionally hung out with, ever since Jongin made the team, partly because Jongin claimed they were a package, and mostly because of Sehun’s non-existent social skills.

 

He carried the stack of cups to the front room, stopping short when he heard a now familiar voice.

 

“Ah, hi, Sehun-ah,” Minseok said it like an endearment. He was on their couch, arms thrown lightly over a pretty boy who Sehun knew was Luhan who was chatting away to his roommate.

 

Sehun handed him a cup. “You haven’t been here before.”

 

“I called him over,” Jongin piped up.

 

“He insisted,” Minseok shook his head chidingly. Sehun wasn't complaining.

 

The rest of the evening passed relatively quickly, with Sehun holed in his room for the majority of it. Eventually Jongin pulled him out with barely concealed threats and plopped him in the middle of the room, where he squirmed under the attention until Chanyeol, the striker, took pity on him and started a conversation. If the boy noticed Sehun’s eyes flitting over to where Minseok sat talking to Jongin, more than once, he didn’t say a word.

 

The people began trickling out by 11pm, leaving Sehun with half a glass of lukewarm beer and a full bladder. He trudged into his room, hoping the water would be warm enough for a shower, maybe enough that he could lounge in the tub a little.

 

“Sehun—”

 

Sehun jumped a mile, before realising that he wasn’t alone in his room. Minseok stood near his desk, a sheet in his hand, that Sehun didn't need two tries to guess what it was. Jongin was on his bed looking pleased with himself.

 

He glared at his roommate. Jongin’s grin slipped off. He was going to get an earful later.

 

Minseok broke the silence first. “This is… beautiful, Sehun-ah.”

 

The endearment. Maybe Sehun was imagining it. He flushed.

 

“I don't look like myself.” Minseok peered into the sheet. “It’s so pretty.” His eyes were crinkled up into little half moons, smile so broad, it looked like it hurt.

 

Jongin edged out of the room silently.

 

“I’m glad you liked it,” Sehun mumbled, fixing his gaze somewhere on the floor.

 

“I’m glad Jongin showed it to me,” he admonished lightly.

 

“I didn't think… you’d…” Minseok waited for him to finish. Sehun shook his head. “Nothing, I’m glad you liked it.”

 

Minseok probably thought he was dumb, what with the limited vocabulary he was showcasing.

 

The silence stretched longer than what was considered comfortable. Minseok gently let the sheet down, albeit rather reluctantly, the look, fond.

 

“You can take it,” Sehun blurted. He flushed again.

 

Minseok looked at him in surprise. “You sure?”

 

“It’s evaluated. Probably will pile up on dust if its here.” Probably wouldn't, somehow Sehun knew he wouldn't let it.

 

Minseok’s answering smile was blinding.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sehun found himself in the midst of Jongin’s soccer group more often than not. He also began to see Minseok everywhere. Maybe he just hadn’t been looking before, maybe the boy had always been around. Sehun found himself trying to initiate little conversations—how the weather was, breakfast, work, the weather—mostly the weather—just to hear Minseok’s little chuckle when he stuttered over his words or blushed furiously later. He found that he didn't mind.

  


Sehun’s watch told him it was past 8pm. He should’ve left college an hour ago, instead he was there, printing a group presentation that Jongin and him had thrown together the previous night. Stacking the last print in order, he rushed to staple it all before hurrying out of the room.

 

It was getting colder every night, everyone had started to bundle up in knitted scarves and sweaters to keep the chill at bay. He tried to push past a couple of stragglers huddled near the door, when a lone figure trudged out from the south entrance of the building, walking gingerly as though every motion hurt.

 

“Minseok hyung!” he winced at how loud he sounded. The stragglers were eyeing him.

 

Minseok turned, recognition teamed with a warm smile. He looked soft, tucked into a maroon sweater, mustard scarf around his neck. Sehun walked to him, eyeing the fat book tucked under his armpit.

 

“You need help with that?”

 

He shook his head. “I don't, Sehun. It’s just a book.”

 

Sehun reached out for the book anyway. Minseok let him have it after a few seconds and didn't comment when Sehun paced himself next to him.

 

“Where are we headed?” Sehun bounced on the balls of his feet, the slight elation that found its way when he was around Minseok had appeared..

 

“My room.”

 

They were on the south side of campus. All the dorms Sehun knew were on the north, he slowed down a little, looking around.

 

“I live in the post grad dorms, Sehun-ah. Perks of carrying this around, I guess…” he trailed off, looking at his prosthetic leg, his eyes sad.

 

Sehun wanted to carry him all the way back, if he’d let him. Maybe wrap him in a hug first. Or kiss him.

 

He shook his head. The thoughts weren’t foreign, they had been popping up for a bit, he’d just successfully learnt to tune it out.

 

Minseok’s room was neat. Sehun was a tad shocked. Not that he had expected a slob, but the rooms were close to pristine—chaise couches with matching cushions arranged similarly, the walls a powder blue, soft and beautiful. Just like the boy who lived there.

 

Minseok disappeared into his bedroom and came back in a black full sleeved shirt and grey shorts, that almost made him look a little dangerous if it were not for the fact that he was on crutches, slightly hobbling with each step. Sehun peeled his eyes off of the silver and black cane and fiddled with the book he’d brought. He looked up when he heard Minseok laugh.

 

“You’re so awkward sometimes, Sehun-ah, it’s cute.”

 

Sehun rolled his eyes despite himself, pulling his legs up and settling into the chaise couch.

 

“You hungry? I think I’ve some cold noodles left. Sweet and sour pork, if you’re lucky.” He hobbled into the kitchen, and started to rummage in the fridge.

 

Sehun got up and bent down near fridge. It was neat as well. Labelled and stacked. He couldn't hold his tongue any longer. “Fuck, this is disturbing.”

 

Minseok looked at him for a second before bursting out laughing. “Luhan says the same thing, figures.”

 

“Well, Luhan’s right,” Sehun grumbled, pulling out the containers from the fridge and taking them to the stove.

 

“Sehun-ah—” MInseok said from behind him “I’m sure you’re the guest here, not vice versa, so please do sit.”

 

“It’s heating two vessels, Hyung. I don't think I’ll burn your kitchen down.”

 

Minseok snorted and said something about kids these days that Sehun promptly ignored.

 

He placed two bowls on the counter and pulled up a chair opposite Minseok. The boy looked torn between being impressed and bursting out laughing. Sehun had garnished the bowls with chopped spring onions and a drizzle of soy sauce.

 

“Just eat it,” he muttered.

 

Minseok took a bite, eyes lighting up a second later.

 

“You seasoned it again, it’s good.” He took another bite “Do you cook?”

 

Sehun swelled in pride. “I try to. Sometimes, in our room on the weekends.”

 

Minseok munched happily. “It shows.”

 

Sehun watched him eat a second longer than he should’ve before looking away and stuffing his mouth as well.

 

He was a goner.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sunday rolled in, lethargy at its peak. Sehun had been mooching off all morning and he could see it was gyrating on Jongin’s nerves. He rolled over in bed and sighed loudly. Jongin turned around, annoyed.

 

“Ask him out.”

 

Sehun sat up, he almost had a whiplash. “What?”

 

“Just ask him out already. And don't—” he raised a hand when Sehun tried to interrupt. “Don't ask me who I’m talking about. You’ve been like this ever since you got back from his place yesterday.”

 

Sehun sighed, burying his face back in his pillow with a muffled—‘I don't want to go out with him.’

 

Jongin snorted. “You aren’t as discreet as you think, Hun.”

 

“I don't think he could see me that way.”

 

“You wouldn't know that unless you asked him. If he says yes, good for you. If it’s a no… it wouldn't be for lack of trying,” Jongin shrugged.

 

Sehun groaned. Jongin’s infallible logic was next to terrible.

  
  


 

Sehun never got to put Jongin’s theory to the test until two weeks later. He was picking up Jongin from his dance lessons a few streets away, it was a routine of sorts—they would pick up dinner at some small place, before heading back for the night. The wind was blustery, and he’d gotten out earlier than usual, so he parked the bike near a quaint little cafe a few meters from Jongin’s studio, and wandered in, hoping it would be warmer than his present situation.

 

The cafe was swathed in warm orange hued lights, complete with a faux fireplace and cushioned  stools. His wallet was probably going to take this visit hard, but he rarely splurged, maybe he’d even get Jongin a latte—

 

“Sehun-ah.”

 

God, now he had to be hearing things.

 

He looked up to see Minseok sitting at a corner, wire glasses perched on his nose, the orange light making the blue in his shirt look violet. He walked up to the older boy, feeling his lips curve up into an easy smile.

 

“Hello hyung. What are you doing here?”

 

“Luhan works here, I was keeping him company,” he pulled out a chair for Sehun, which he dropped into gratefully. Luhan then turned up to take his order, which ended up with Sehun picking two of the cheapest things on the menu.

 

“It’s for Jongin—” he answered, as Minseok raised an eyebrow in question. “I’m picking him up from his studio.”

 

“Ah, with the uninsured bike.”

 

“Careful, I’m very attached to it.”

 

Minseok chuckled. “Wouldn't doubt it”.

 

They sat there for a short while, until Sehun’s drinks came, talking about the consumerism market—something that Sehun had very little knowledge about, but Minseok’s animation on the topic made it worthwhile. Luhan turned up while creamy lattes and a quick word to Minseok that he would be working late.

 

“I could drop you back home,” Sehun interjected.

 

Two faces turned to look at him.

 

“You’ve got to pick up Jongin, Sehun,” Minseok sighed.

 

“That’s half an hour later—which gives me enough time to drop you and get back.” He had to pick up Jongin in fifteen, but Minseok didn’t need to know that.

 

Luhan’s grin grin grew wider, “Good, that’s settled then.”

 

Minseok looked at Sehun, he looked tired. “I wish you wouldn't.”

  
  


 

Minseok needed help getting onto the bike. Sehun steadied him gently as he swung his better leg over the seat. Sehun handed him the bag with the lattes, before getting onto the bike himself.

 

“Not too fast, Sehun-ah,” Minseok whispered, his hand finding its way to Sehun’s shoulder.

 

Sehun nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

 

He took the longer route back to campus, and never strayed beyond the limit. It was windy enough that he could feel the rush as the wintery air streamlined around them. Minseok would let out an occasional yelp when Sehun picked up the pace, paired with a swat. They were about a minute from the dorms when Sehun realised he wouldn't mind doing this all over again, everyday, maybe in a way that wasn't exactly healthy for his heart.

  
  


 

“I’m not going to break Sehun,” Minseok chided as he helped him get off.

 

Sehun felt like his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. No better time to see whether Jongin was right.

 

“Hyung…” his voice was a little shaky, he’d always been a coward. “W-would you, perhaps, want to go somewhere with me… like on a date?” he finished lamely.

 

Minseok looked shell-shocked, and maybe a little sad. What a terrible idea.

 

“It’s alright if you don't want to hyung… I’ll be alright.”

 

Minseok sighed and reached out to touch his clenched fists “Yea, that’d be nice Sehun-ah,” his voice so, so tired.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Thif if fgood.” Jongin had his mouth stuffed with ginger lemon cookies. He swallowed. “Fuck, Hun. That’s so good. What that chewy thing again?”

 

“Candied ginger,” Sehun replied dryly.

 

“Man, it's almost like you’re trying to get him to marry you.”

 

Sehun flushed. “I’m just making dinner.”

 

“Yea, doesn’t look like you’re trying to get into his pants.”

 

“It isn’t like that. Yah, stop eating my cookies.”

  


 

The date was a little awkward around the edges when Sehun picked Minseok up and brought him home. It was so very new for him to have someone that he wanted to so desperately appeal to. Minseok was quieter than usual when he stepped in, but his eyes lit up with unconcealed fondness in a way that only he could, when he saw that Sehun had cooked dinner.

  


 

Dinner was a quiet affair, comfortable silences and little easy conversations. He made sure Minseok got the best bits of chicken in his fried rice, and quietly denied it when the other questioned him about it. Sehun didn't know if this was what everyone described as happiness, but he felt contented, helping Minseok across the room to their couch, easing off his prosthetic gently once he’d settled down. The cookies were a hit, paired with an hour of ‘UP’ the movie had Minseok’s shoulder pressed against his, as Sehun watched his eyes curve up into half-moons in sheer mirth.

  


 

Minseok stilled a little when Sehun wrapped his hands around his, worrying him for a moment that he’d gone too far, but the older boy had eased up to the touch a moment later. He had curled up against Sehun well past the movie as they sat like that, the silence enveloping everything in its warmth.

 

His head was in overdrive. Probably wasn’t healthy, then again, what good things were? With Minseok curving against his side, he could see the older boy’s profile glittering in the semi- darkness, the pale skin shining against the black.

 

“Quit staring Sehun-ah.”

 

He reached out and touched Minseok’s cheek, looking into the eyes that suddenly screamed caution. Sehun could see the walls be built, brick by brick, when he leaned closer, his breath fanning Minseok’s face.

 

“Hyung.”

 

Minseok flinched bodily.

 

“We need to stop.”

 

It was like being downed in iced water. Sehun blinked and moved away like he was he was scorched. He tried to keep the hurt from seeping into his facade. Probably was failing miserably.

 

“Hyung, I’m sorry. I just… wanted to—”

 

Minseok looked grey, the kind that bordered on translucent.

 

“You don’t want this.” He gestured to all of himself. “You’re in college Sehun, the last thing you need is a half cripple. You don’t want that. Fuck, I don’t want that for you.”

 

Sehun’s palm were sweaty. He wiped them on his pants.

 

“You don’t get to choose for me.” At least he tried. Feeble attempts like running paint.

 

“I do. I get to choose, so that you don’t have to later.” Minseok’s eyes softened beyond measuring, the sadness in them, inexplicable. “I’ll be a burden Sehun-ah. There will be days when I can’t walk, days when I just won’t be able to, days when I crash and lose the will to keep going, days when I’ll fall in love with you, limiting you with all the things I’ll never be able to do… ” he trailed off.

 

Sehun was quiet. He was never good with speaking his mind, especially when he felt numb all over. He was quiet as he helped Minseok wear the prosthetic, fingers brushing gently over the curve where the leg ended; quiet as he wrapped some cookies in foil, the crinkling the only sound in the room; quiet as he dropped Minseok back, the space between them audible as church bells ringing at dawn.

 

“Goodnight Sehun.”

 

He tried to mould his face into a semblance of a smile.

 

_Days when I’ll fall in love with you, limiting you with all the things I’ll never be able to do._

 

* * *

 

 

 

Full circle was a feeling. Rejection, a festering one. Sehun’s canvas was bleak, the pale red underpainting he’d done a week ago, looking at him with scorn. Still life, he still didn't have a clue as to what he wanted to do for it. He was well past the deadlines anyway, probably wouldn't hurt to leave it aside for a while.

 

He had to pick up Jongin in twenty. Leaving the house wasn't something he was looking forward to doing, but he’d promised his roommate. The silence was getting too loud as well.

 

He’d gotten back from Minseok’s and Jongin had asked him quietly how the date had gone, not in a way that was pressing, Jongin always gave him the option of choosing not to answer. But Sehun had told him, down to every last detail. They’d been friends for six years, Jongin could read him crystal anyway.

 

It was just another date. Minseok probably never thought Sehun could gel with him, even in the vaguest form. But the inherent feeling that he was missing something never quite went away.

  


 

He stopped in front of the cafe near Jongin’s studio. He didn't have the slightest inkling why, but he found himself walking in and sitting in the place he’d sat with Minseok last.

 

“He isn’t here today.”

 

It was Luhan.

 

“I’m not… I just wanted something to drink,” he finished.

 

Luhan smiled, not unkindly. “The latte? Give me a moment.”

 

Luhan was back with a steaming cup in a shorter time than usual, and turned to leave after jesting that he expected a tip.

 

“Is he okay?” Sehun couldn't help himself.

 

Luhan turned, debating for a second before answering.  “He was always fine.”

 

Ouch. that hurt more than it should have.

 

“Not now, though,” Luhan continued. Sehun looked up at him. Luhan sighed, looking around before he sat down opposite Sehun. “Minseok has always been strong. The kind of guy who disliked depending on people.”

 

Sehun could see it, word to word- the stubbornness with which Minseok refused help, the stoic torpor.

 

“These traits are only heightened by vulnerability, Sehun. It takes a lot of time for some people to realise that it is okay to be wanted. And that it is okay to want in return. It takes even more time to share the emotional weight they carry.”

 

Luhan paused. “I’ve seen him cry twice, in the time I’ve known him. Once, on the hospital bed, praying, to give him his leg back. And the other, the day you dropped him back.”

 

Sehun looked away, heart clenching at the thought of glittering tears welling up in the soft brown irises.

 

“The conviction that you’re willingly to carry all that he has to offer is what matters.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

The soccer team was back. Sehun hadn’t volunteered to socialise this time, but it was past 11 and no one showed signs of slowing down. Maybe he could make it to the kitchen and back without being seen, if he was quick about it.

 

Someone had left the kitchen light on. The person was hunched over, and seemed to be struggling with something. Steeling his resolve, Sehun walked up to him. If not for want of trying. Jongin would be proud.

 

He bent down near the boy and touched his leg.

 

Minseok looked a little stunned by his sudden appearance. Sehun ignored the palpable stiffening and gently tucked his fingers into the coarse elastic, loosening it a little, before removing the prosthetic. His hands stayed though, almost feather like over Minseok’s knee.

 

“Hyung…”

 

“I don't think this is a good idea, Sehun.” Minseok sounded weary.

 

“No hyung, I need you to hear me out. You never stopped to ask me what I wanted. And I want to try.”

 

Minseok’s breath hitched. Sehun kept going.

 

“I want this- I want to take you to places and hold you when you get tired, make you laugh and kiss you, if you’d let me. To depend on you, as much as you would on me. I don't want to let it go just because I’m too weak to try.”

 

He rubbed circles onto Minseok’s knees, wondering if he was imagining the glassiness in the boy’s eyes.

 

“And I want to know if you wanted it too.” he finished softly.

 

The nod he got in response was almost imperceptible, but that was all Sehun needed.

 

He leaned forward, cupping Minseok’s face in his palms, pressing their lips together. Once, twice, three times. It was gentle and unhurried, the kind that didn't bring revelations with it but felt right anyway. He pulled back a little.

 

“You were wrong- about me not wanting this. I wouldn't have it any other way”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Being with Minseok was easy. The kind of simple that came with warm mornings and whispered giggles. Sehun wasn't the happiest he’d ever been, but he was close. Some days, he’d wake up; to stale morning breath, or hot coffee, on the better days; to realise that contentment was simple and humane.

 

 

 

The first time they slept together, Sehun realised that just maybe he was in love.

  


He licked into Minseok’s mouth relentlessly, slowing down a little as his mind caught up. Sehun knew he looked more than a little flushed when they pulled back.

 

“The bed, now, Sehun-ah?”

 

“That sounds about right, hyung”

 

Minseok chuckled.

  


He settled in between Minseok’s outspread legs, their clothes tossed and forgotten. He pressed his lips to the amputated leg, kissing the scars over and over, Minseok’s little shivers making his heart thump mightily.

  


“Hyung, tell me… tell me if I’m hurting you.” he mumbled, as he slipped a finger into the tight ring of muscles. Minseok clenched around him, gasping. Sehun leaned over to kiss him. Anything to lessen the pain.

 

“Haven’t… done this in a while,” Minseok grunted, breaths heaving into short pants.

  


When Sehun finally thrusted in; covering Minseok’s mouth with his, holding back from the heat until Minseok had adjusted, before rocking his hips in a steady rhythm; he realised that he craved the simplicity of it all- the moment, Minseok, everything.

 

He wouldn't have it any other way.

 

 

It was like the bluish core of a flame, fiery, but stilled. The kind that Sehun didn't need a revelation to know it was right.

  


**Author's Note:**

> I'd intended for this prompt to be a little smutty, some alcohol, lots of bad decisions. It ended up like this.  
> I may or may not have written this fic over three nights, but I hope you liked it.  
> Give this fest lots of love.  
> Enjoy the comeback with copper-haired Sehun-ah and shock-haired Minseok hyung.
> 
> Come talk to me on twitter @potslooshi


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